In a tank crew, troop or field section,

Using split hairpin shelter or hesco bastion.

We build and work hard, no sign of hesitation,

All this is done for your protection.


Coming home from the tours,

No welcoming crowds or happy cheers.

“See you in the naafi or round at yours?”

Crash on the sofa and have a few beers.


As time passes the nightmares, they start,

“Stop being daft, you silly old fart!”

Pick up a paintbrush, relax with some art,

Doesn’t quite work and the two of you part.


Beer and fags and sitting in the rain,

Anything to try to dull the pain.

Staring at tracks at a railway station,

To put an end to the total confusion


The drinking and fighting and incarceration,

Sitting, monged out in front of television.

More beer and drugs, seeking total oblivion,

“Lock him up, the twat! Throw him in prison!”


We did the job for mine and your nation,

The PTSD puts a block on the old cogitation.

Screwed up, fucked up, a mess of frustration’

Medicated, are we, for your protection!


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